Thistle and Roses Collection: A Bundle of Scottish, Irish and English Historical Romance

by Eliza Knight

  Chapter Four

  After her less than honorable thoughts, Alex avoided Sir Alaric at all costs. Ever vigilant of his whereabouts, she hastened from her mount before he could reach her, having donned her new riding gown, a soft blue satin with doves embroidered on it, though the rest of the ladies remained in their finery. At every repast, she sat between two other ladies, leaving no room for a flirting knight and, while there, she kept herself firmly engaged in the women’s frivolous nonsense. She kept her horse firmly tucked between riders. Every place they came to rest their heads, she rushed in the door first, volunteered to help the queen dress and undress, so she might always be surrounded by others.

  The problem with being so vigilant was that she was always aware of Alaric.

  Never was he out of her mind, or her sight, and as a consequence she thought about him more than if she’d simply been acting normal.

  But she did avoid him. Avoided the touch of his lips on her hand, or his fingers spanning her waist as he helped her dismount. His wicked winks and delicious smiles.

  The other drawback to being vigilant: she was making Sir Alaric just as aware of her avoidance as she was.

  He stared at her constantly, a teasing curve to his lips, mischief dancing in his eyes. The knight knew she was avoiding him and he was enjoying the unease it gave her. Damn the man!

  Two days passed before they finally reached Dalkeith Castle. Hopefully, he’d soon be leaving them, going back to the Sassenach country he’d come from and then she’d no longer have to watch her back, peek into every darkened corner and hasten down the stairs in such a way that truly threatened her very life if she were to trip.

  Today she rode beside the princess, at Margaret’s own request as she’d gotten used to Alex being close to her over the past couple of days. In her intent to ignore Alaric, Alex had been overly attentive to the princess and, in fact, had grown to actually like the English royal. Blasphemous, if she were to seek her family’s opinion—which she wouldn’t.

  The castle was surrounded by a river, which looked to have swelled with the recent summer rain. The keep itself was tall and thick, and not as elegant as Alex imagined Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood Palace would look when they finally arrived there in a few days’ time, but it was well secured with a high, thick wall that teamed with guards, and canons stuck through slots in the crenellations.

  As soon as their party was spotted, the trumpets sounded and the gates were opened. A tall, elegantly dressed man rode his horse out of the gates, armored knights behind him. Was this the king come to greet his bride?

  Margaret fidgeted beside Alex, her face blushing a pretty pink. The Countess of Home, having pushed the princess’ English ladies back—including the Countess of Surrey—sat on the other side of the princess, her back ramrod straight, and her gaze ahead. No one offered the young bride even a word of comfort.

  Alex ignored the sparkling necklace at the soon-to-be queen’s throat, and instead said something along the lines of what she wished her mother had said to her before shipping her off to court. At least something to give her a boost of confidence. “There is the road ahead, and there is the road behind us. Today ye begin yer new journey. And a great journey it will be.”

  Margaret smiled. “You speak in riddles, Lady Alex. But I love that about you.” She reached out and squeezed Alex’s hand. “I’m glad to have you beside me.”

  The moment quickly passed as the princess sat tall, her face going stoic as she was trained from birth, her gaze directly on her future husband.

  King James dismounted from his horse and bowed to his wife, helping her dismount. He kissed her hand and led her inside the castle gates to the sounds of cheers going up all around them. It seemed romantic and not at all what Alex would have expected. Though the king was twice her age, he appeared to be smitten with her, and by the look on Margaret’s face, she seemed equally taken.

  The next several hours were filled with unpacking Margaret’s things into the room she’d stay in for the next several days, as well as storing the items she’d brought with her from England inside the barn with her many horses.

  The scents of the great feast filled the castle and the courtyard, and the energy flowing from every person made the air pulse with excitement. Alex’s belly rumbled at the thought of poached salmon swimming in a creamy lemon caper sauce and roasted suckling pig, turnips drizzled in butter and spices and bread baked so fresh the steam still rose from the crusts.

  She changed into the gown she’d worn when she first greeted the royal party at Lamberton, the hem having been cleaned of mud by one of the washwomen at Fast Castle. Passing the looking glass that stood in Princess Margaret’s chamber, Alex paused a moment to look at herself. There were no mirrors at Caerlaverock. At least not yet. Her mother despised the notion and thought it a vanity that no humble woman should entertain. As a result, Alex had only ever seen herself in the reflection of water.

  She touched her face, surprised by the young and excited-looking woman who gazed back at her. Eyes as blue as the sky and hair as red as flames. Her skin was creamy as milk and her neck long. She touched her simple necklace of lace and pearls. What would it be like to wear the fancy emerald and amethyst necklace that she was sent to steal?

  When they’d dressed the princess, she’d had a choice of two additional necklaces the king had gifted her with, though she was certain she should wear the emerald one. But it was Alex who convinced young Margaret that the ruby and diamond choker was best for the evening feast. Alex had put her grandmother’s necklace back into the wooden chest, setting it inside the princess’ temporary wardrobe, and planned to come back for it when everyone was enjoying the feast.

  Startled from her daze by the clapping of Lady Home, Alex hurried to follow the rest of the ladies who’d already exited the royal chamber.

  “Have ye never seen a mirror before?” the countess asked, a sneer in her tone.

  “Nay,” Alex said simply, her head held high. She wanted to add she was not as vain as the others, but then she’d be insulting Princess Margaret and that wouldn’t do. And besides, was it truly vain to wonder what one looked like?

  Lady Home grunted and then lifted her skirts hurrying away from Alex as quickly as she could.

  The attendants in the Great Hall stood when Princess Margaret entered. The King was seated at the dais and he, too, stood, but did not move from his position. Margaret walked toward him slowly, but confidently and when she reached the front of the dais she curtsied. The king bowed his head then indicated for her to take the seat to his left.

  The dais was filled with Scottish nobles—including Lord and Lady Home—and the rest of the princess’ ladies were given prime seating at a long trestle table adjacent to the royal table. Alex scanned the crowd for Alaric, and found him leaning up against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Did the man never enjoy himself? Was he always on alert?

  The few times they’d been alone he’d been so different. He was someone else altogether in front of the others. Distant. Dignified. Dangerous.

  Alex suffered through the first half of the meal, her stomach twisting into knots at what she needed to do. The poached salmon felt thick in her mouth and the buttered turnips extra sour. She sipped her wine, hoping to wash the flavors from her tongue, but the drink only seemed to burn her throat.

  The only thought on her mind was at least attempting to assuage her parents’ request. To be done with it. Lord, but she didn’t want to!

  But if she didn’t... There was a convent waiting for her. Ending all that she’d come to find she enjoyed—court, the company of others, even their silly gossip, and one very fine, handsome knight.

  Alex drained her wine, ignoring the burning path it made to her belly.

  Now. Else she lost her nerve, or her meal all over the front of her dress.

  Alex stood delicately, not making eye contact with anyone so as not to draw attention to herself. Especially not Alaric, though she felt his gaze burning into her bac
k.

  If this didn’t work, she’d not try again. Oh, dear heavens, why was she trying to begin with? Because her parents were still her guardians and they could and would imprison her for the rest of her life. That pushed her feet into forward motion.

  The music, laughter and chatting drowned out the pounding of her heart, and she walked with surprising ease from the Great Hall without anyone stopping her.

  Once in the dimly lit corridor, she let out a held breath and then hurried as fast as she could up the stairs toward the princess’ chamber. In and out. Quick. Simple. Take the necklace from the chest. Within her gown, her mother had sewn a secret pocket and she would slip the jewels in there, buttoning it up so they’d not fall out.

  Reaching the floor of the princess’ chamber, she paused a moment to make certain she was alone. The corridor was dimly lit by only a few sconces. She could smell the damp muskiness of the stones and long tapestried runner in the center of the hall floor. Thankfully, there were no guards outside Princess Margaret’s chamber, else she would have had to come up with some clever ruse as to why she needed to get inside, and then an even cleverer lie as to why the jewels went missing after she’d done so.

  Alex’s footsteps echoed on the wooden planked floor as she kept to the side near the wall. She reached the door, touched the handle, twisted.

  “What are you doing, my lady?”

  She jumped so high, she might have hit her head on the ceiling. Well, maybe if she were taller, but all the same, she fairly leapt out of her skin. Whirling around, the imposing figure of the knight she’d been avoiding loomed close. Too close. She could smell the spicy, woodsy scent of him. A fragrance she breathed in deep and burned to memory.

  “Alaric,” she gasped. “Why have ye followed me?”

  “You looked unwell. I wanted to check on you.” In the dim light she watched his eyes squint as he assessed her.

  Could he read her so easily? Know that she was about to do something treasonous?

  Alex tried to flash a disarming smile, wiping at a make-believe piece of hair tickling her cheek. “Shouldn’t ye be guarding yer princess?”

  “I believe her betrothed, the king, has that well in hand.” Alaric leaned against the wall, his arms crossing over his massive chest. So causal he looked. So in control.

  Alex crossed her arms over her middle, trying to catch her breath, then quickly forced her hands to her sides realizing she’d taken a protective stance. “Then hadn’t ye best hasten back to England? Northumbria is where ye’re from if I remember correctly.”

  Alaric chuckled. “That is correct. But Castle De Garde has been standing for many hundreds of years. My brother runs it well. A few more days without me will not make it fall.”

  Alex humphed, not getting her way. And yet, she was relieved. She didn’t really want him to leave. Not at all. “Yer family is verra old?”

  “Mmhmm. As is yours?”

  “Aye.” She chewed her lip, wondering how in blazes she was going to get him away from her. This was the best chance she had. She wanted so desperately to be done with this vile business. For her sanity’s sake. Margaret would be sad that her necklace was taken and Alex would likely feel the guilt of it for the rest of her days.

  Alaric stepped closer, still casually leaning against the wall, but his presence, it was crowding her sense and sensibility. “You haven’t answered the question.”

  Alex kept her feet rooted in place even though she wanted to take a step back. The knight’s frame was large, broad and muscular. He didn’t wear armor tonight, but a doublet in red and gold and a brooch with a lion head over his heart. She wanted to trace that wolf. Alaric was a lot like the animal. Leashed power that, if let go, would tear into his enemies. Into her.

  She didn’t want to be his enemy. Nay, quite the opposite.

  “What question?” she whispered, her gaze riveted on the lion.

  He stepped even closer to her. “What are you doing—here at Princess Margaret’s rooms?”

  Alex shook her head just the tiniest bit, not wanting to tell him. Refusing. And not knowing what else to say.

  “Sneaking about?” His tone was teasing, though his eyes searched hers for answers. “Should I be suspicious of you, my lady? You did confess to being a mischief maker.”

  Alex swallowed, shook her head. Then she did touch the lion head, felt the coolness of the metal beneath her fingertip, and a shiver raced up her arm. The princess’ necklace was now the furthest thing from her mind. All she could think of was Alaric. Of his want to ravish her. Of her need to be ravished. Of his lips.

  And then she was closing the distance between them, leaning up on tiptoe, her eyes dipping closed. Her mouth touching his.

  At first he stood there, still as stone, as she pressed herself against him, breathed in his invigorating, masculine scent, a hint of sandalwood and bergamot. But a hitched breath later, his arms were encircling her. Lifting her further against him, closer to his exploring mouth—the taste of wine and spice vibrant and intoxicating.

  Alex sighed, whimpered, lips parting, nearly fainting when he slipped his velvet tongue into her mouth. The heat of it alone seared her. Her entire body filled with fire. She found her arms circling his neck, clinging to him. Never wanting this perfect kiss to end.

  Alaric was gentle, yet demanding. And oh, saints, but she felt thoroughly enraptured.

  Even as she kissed him, allowed him to kiss her back, allowed his hands to span the small of her back and trace the line of her ribs, to cup her cheek, and thread his fingers through her hair, she knew she was in deeper than she’d ever expected.

  Kissing Alaric was a sin. A depravity to be certain. If they were caught, she’d be labeled a harlot and her days at court… Oh, but she didn’t care. She wanted someone to catch her, to send her home, where she could hide away forever with the memory of this kiss for the rest of her days.

  Chapter Five

  Alaric’s entire body felt afire. Flames licked along his limbs and pure liquid sin pooled in his groin tightening his breeches. Never before had he wanted to take a woman as much as he wanted to whisk this Scottish chit up in his arms and toss her onto the nearest bed.

  He’d wanted to kiss her for days, but he’d been the one to hold back. She had kissed him.

  Alaric had always been the one to initiate kissing with a woman he was courting, not the other way around. Oh, aye, he’d quickly taken control of her lips touching his, claiming her virgin mouth and teaching her just what to do with her tongue, and how to tilt her head…

  Ballocks!

  What in bloody hell was he doing?

  His cock raged, pressing hard to the warmth of her lower belly. Alexandra would certainly have felt it and yet she hadn’t moved. She wasn’t afraid.

  And he liked that. He didn’t want her to be afraid, but neither would he take advantage of her, for even if she had been the one to initiate the kiss, he could tell this was either her first time, or she’d not been kissed more than once or twice before. Of course, there was always the possibility that whomever she’d been kissing in the past had been terrible at it.

  But she wasn’t terrible. And why was he suddenly jealous of a made up lover?

  Alaric gripped her shoulders, licked her lips one last time and then pulled away, gazing into her bemused eyes.

  “What was that for?” he asked softly.

  She blinked, her blue eyes filled with desire—a sentiment he fully reciprocated.

  Alaric gritted his teeth and put another few inches of space between them to keep from kissing her once more.

  “I…” She chewed her bottom lip, her hands falling down his arms leaving a heated trail before falling to her sides. “I was curious.”

  “Curious?”

  “Ye mentioned ravishment a few days ago.” The lady’s cheeks turned scarlet, but she kept her gaze steady on his. “I wanted to see for myself.”

  Alaric smiled. “Ravishment, aye, that I did.” He tucked an errant curl behind her ear. Fee
ling some masculine pride at her swollen, red, very kissed lips, her flushed cheeks and mussed hair. “Do you feel ravished?”

  Her eyes found the center of his forehead, or perhaps his hairline—whichever spot she was concentrating on, Alexandra was trying her best not to meet his gaze.

  She nodded and replied, “Aye.”

  “Then I didn’t kiss you well enough.” He winked, grinning like the rake he probably was.

  Her eyes did meet his then, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “Well enough?”

  Alaric leaned a little closer and whispered, “If I’d ravished you, you wouldn’t be able to speak. You’d be too busy trying to catch your breath.”

  He didn’t think her face could get any redder, but it did. Lord, he was a cad for toying with her, but he couldn’t help himself! It was too much fun. And if he was going to be tormented by the raging erection and her delicious kiss, then why shouldn’t he give her a little taste of her own medicine?

  “Ye are a rogue,” she said softly, poking him in the chest.

  Alaric grabbed his chest dramatically. “Oh, you wound me!”

  She laughed. “And a tease.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say just who the tease was, but truth be told, he needed to get her back to the festivities and he could use a large mug of whisky.

  “Come, let me take you back to the Great Hall. I’m certain your chaperone will be wondering where you are.”

  “I doubt Lady Home has even noticed I’m gone.” Despite that admission, she did take his arm.

  “You never did answer my question, Lady Alexandra. Did you kiss me just to distract me? That would have been very clever and devious of you.”

  “I am a lady. Ladies are never devious.”

  Alaric laughed. “Well, little mischief maker, allow me to be the one to enlighten you and welcome you to court—home of scheming ladies and gentleman.”

  “Are ye included in that group?”

  “Touché.” Alaric grinned, patting her hand where it rested on his forearm. “I am a knight of His Majesty, King Henry of England’s realm. I never scheme, unless it is to defeat my enemy.”